


No Boundaries

by MissViolet



Series: The "No" Series [5]
Category: House M.D.
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-07-20
Updated: 2010-07-20
Packaged: 2017-10-10 16:50:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,842
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/101940
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissViolet/pseuds/MissViolet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When House shares his favorite napping spot, Wilson must deal with his friend's boundary issues. Naughtiness ensues.</p>
            </blockquote>





	No Boundaries

They sat in Wilson's office, having lunch. Wilson had carefully arranged a sesame chicken salad, whole-grain roll, and pile of grapes on a paper towel spread across his desk. House was plotting to swipe the roll the moment his friend looked away. Wilson had learned that bringing a sandwich for lunch would mean getting only half of it, whereas salads, pasta, and soup were immune from House's thieving ways.

"Want to drive me over to the taco stand?" asked House, looking glum that his food thievery was thwarted.

"Drive yourself, I have my lunch," said Wilson. "Besides, I'm thinking of copping a nap," said Wilson, yawning and stretching.

"What, in the chair?" said House, looking dubiously towards the blue linen armchair and tasteful Oriental rug in the corner of Wilson's office.

"Or maybe the floor."

"That's for amateurs. I know the best places."

"For napping?"

"I've taken the art of office napping to a whole new level. Want me to show you a spot or two?"

"By all means, show me your hiding places."

They exited Wilson's office and walked towards a new wing in the hospital. It was sealed off with plastic sheet and electrical tape but House, after casting a wary glance around, ripped off the tape and squeezed through an opening in the plastic. "Come on," he said, holding up the sheeting, and Wilson stepped through.

The new wing was bariatrics; it was a bequest from a wealthy, overweight donor, but the facility remained unfinished. The construction workers were on strike and the project halted until a settlement was negotiated. The hallways were deserted.

House walked through the dark empty corridors until he came to an exam room, bare except for a very large bed. "It's going to be the fat ward," said House with his characteristic lack of tact. "So the beds are extra-roomy. And no-one ever comes over here."

"Thanks," said Wilson, "It's perfect." He sat on the exam table, kicked off his shoes, and slid out of his jacket. He lay back, jacket thrown over his shoulders, head resting on the tiny paper pillow. House was still standing over him.

"See you later," added Wilson meaningfully, but House sat down next to him. "I could use forty winks, myself."  
"I was here first," said Wilson, feeling nervous. The bed was roomy, but they would still be a bit close for his comfort.

"That's why I never show anyone my hiding spots," grumbled House. He rested his cane against the wall, snatched the tiny pillow away from Wilson, and settled down. In a few minutes, he was dozing peacefully.

Wilson lay awake, feeling uncertain. House had boundary issues. His long limbs brushed against him no matter how far he inched himself over. He was sleeping deeply with half his body sprawled onto Wilson's side of the bed. He was a pillow hog, too. But in the dark and silent room, House's deep breathing was comforting, peaceful, even. Wilson found himself drifting off into sweet slumber, and he slept better than he had for a long time.

When he awoke, House's legs were tangled in his own, and his arm was draped casually across his hips. How had that happened? He had fallen asleep securely on his own side of the bed, with only the barest contact with House, and somehow in their napping, they ended up practically spooning. He slid out from House's arm and stood up. House stirred and moaned softly in confused protest, the half-conscious noise of someone not yet awake, but not entirely asleep. "Wilson," he mumbled.

"Yes?"

"Come back soon," said House, then turned over onto his stomach and promptly fell asleep again.

Wilson left the bariatrics ward, wondering what on earth House had meant by that, if he was even aware of what he'd said, and if he'd find House still napping if he did return in an hour or two, and whether House really would be glad he returned or if he was just half-mumbling in his sleep.

Wilson didn't return that day, but the following week, after a long, weary evening with a patient who took a turn for the worse, but not worse enough to give up hope, and an early-morning consult with a hypochondriac member of the board, he was exhausted. A lunchtime nap would be just the thing to refresh himself for his afternoon rounds. He walked towards the unfinished bariatrics wing, looking warily in either direction before slipping through the plastic sheeting and headed towards the examination room.

He wasn't exactly surprised to see his friend sprawled across the bed; House spent more time napping in the hospital than anyone else could have gotten away with. His interns did all the routine work and unless his patient was tanking, he spent only a few hours a day in consultation, plus whatever clinic hours he couldn't weasel his way out of. Which left plenty of time for watching _General Hospital_, playing his Game Boy, and dozing off in odd corners.

House was fast asleep, which made it less awkward for Wilson. He settled in next to him, slipping out of his loafers and casting his winter coat over himself. He had brought it especially for that reason. House had taken the pillow, so Wilson wadded up his scarf and rested his head on it. The rhythm of House's steady breathing was oddly comforting. He found himself drifting peacefully, enjoying the pleasant warmth of House stretched out next to him.

About forty minutes later, Wilson awoke with a start. He had slept longer than he intended. And once again, to his discomfort, House's long legs were tangled in his own, and his arm draped across Wilson's waist. Wilson's heart began to thud, he felt the anxiety creeping in. It was no coincidence that this happened twice. Was House trying to tell him something? Or was it just his usual boundary issues? He didn't want to disturb him, so he began to ease his way out of House's near-embrace, but suddenly House opened his eyes.

"I wasn't sleeping," he said.

"Oh!" said Wilson, at a complete loss for words. He began to blush, hating that House could still make him feel embarrassed, even after all these long years of friendship.

House, though fully awake, wasn't moving his arm, and his legs were still nearly entwined with Wilson's. "Um, maybe you want to move your arm?" suggested Wilson. "And your legs?"

"What if I don't?" asked House, tightening his arm, dropping it, even, so that it rested neatly across Wilson's waist.

"You don't...don't want to?" asked Wilson uncertainly. He couldn't believe the direction this conversation was taking, wondering vaguely if House was sleep-talking, dreaming of Carmen Electra.

"Maybe I _do_ want to," said House cryptically, sliding his arm tenderly across Wilson's hip. Wilson, to his abject horror, felt his insides stirring, responding to House's caress...he did want this, as much as he had tried to deny it, but with House gently stroking his hips, twining his long limbs around him, suddenly Wilson's imagination was running into overdrive, fantasizing about where they might go next, House's hand sliding lower, and maybe the other arm around his shoulder, tilting his head back, moving in for a kiss....

Wilson abruptly stood up, retrieving his wadded-up scarf, yanking his winter coat from House's clutches. "I've got to get back to work," he said hastily, walking away from House so quickly, he nearly tripped over a row of fluorescent ceiling fixtures on his way out.

"You can run, but you can't hide!" House called out after him, before settling back down to resume his afternoon nap.

Wilson was determined not to repeat the incredibly awkward experience of sleeping next to House and inadvertently waking up in his embrace, even if he had to forego his lunchtime naps. But he had gotten accustomed to a mid-day rest. He tried stretching out on the floor of his office, on the Oriental rug, but the rug was so small, he kept slipping off it and onto the hard cold floor, and he found that he couldn't get to sleep. It occurred to him that there was probably more than one exam room in the bariatrics wing, or at least, a waiting room where he could stretch out on a couch. He wandered over to the deserted wing, discreetly waiting for a maintenance man to finish wheeling his hand truck down the hall, and slipped once again behind the plastic sheeting.

It was a shame the wing construction had to be put on hold, he thought. Clearly the job was almost done, but the hospital was obligated to deal only with union contractors, and until they could negotiate a deal with the union, construction could not proceed. Although he personally had no interest in treating obesity, Wilson felt vaguely satisfied that the hospital would soon serve a new segment of the unhealthy population.

By a stroke of good fortune, the exam room was empty; House was not napping today. Wilson stretched out on the extra-large bed with a sigh of satisfaction. He let his oxford loafers slip to the floor, and nestled down onto the bed, pulling the small white pillow to him, settling in for a restful sleep. It took a bit longer to fall asleep than he had expected. He missed the warmth of House sleeping next to him, the steady rhythmic breathing, even the heavy weight of House's arm draped across his waist. He couldn't lie to himself; deep down he knew he wanted it: House touching him, slipping his legs around him, caressing his body. Wilson, who loved women, who had married three of them, was secretly yearning for his best friend and lately, it looked like House wasn't entirely unaware of this, either. Wilson drifted off feeling a strange combination of optimism and apprehension.

He dreamed the shallow half-waking dreams of daytime napping; almost conscious of his dream-state, but allowing it, breathing deep, satisfied breaths. Wilson loved to nap; it was like an instant energy-booster. He dreamed that he was napping on the bariatrics exam table, when someone threw a blanket over him, tucked him in as his mama used to do, sitting close, one hand resting on his shoulder. He felt secure and well-loved in his cozy nest. The hand stroked his forehead, it was large, rough with callouses.

"House," he mumbled in his sleep.

"I'm here," said House. And suddenly Wilson woke up, utterly confused. He was underneath a scratchy wool blanket that he recognized from the back of House's car. And House really was sitting next to him. The line between waking and dreaming was blurred.

"Hello," said House softly.

"Did you put this blanket over me?"

"I brought it for myself, actually, but you looked a little cold, huddled under your sports coat."

"Thanks," said Wilson, wondering if House had really stroked his forehead, or was that part of the dream? And then House was kicking off his sneakers, lying back, and settling in next to him underneath the blanket.

"What are you doing?" asked Wilson nervously.

"The union comes back to work next week. I'll have to find another nap spot. I wanted to enjoy my last day of peace and quiet. Don't you have to get back to work anyway?" asked House, sliding closer to Wilson, so that his leg brushed against him. Wilson felt that strange spark, the odd desire to get physically closer to his friend, to have House's arm around his shoulders, reassuring him...he couldn't pinpoint the feeling exactly, but he knew that he didn't want to get up and go back to work.

"I'll just rest for a few more minutes," he said.

"That's good. You're keeping the bed warm," said House suggestively. "And my hands are cold," he continued, sliding his hands between them. They were ice-cold and Wilson shivered a little. House was close to him, too close, and yet Wilson wanted to draw him closer, to feel his whole length pressed up against him. Almost unconsciously he nestled a little deeper to House, wondering if he'd gone too far. But no, House was enjoying the contact, pressing himself next to Wilson, one hand casually resting on first his upper thigh, then moving upward slightly to linger at his waist.

"I heard you say my name," whispered House. Somehow he had worked his way so close to Wilson, his whisper was directly in his ear, making him shiver a little. "Were you dreaming about me?" His arms were around Wilson's waist, and he was pressed close, so close that Wilson's heart began to pound with anxious anticipation.

"Yeah, I dreamed you came in and put a blanket over me, tucked me in..." said Wilson, laughing nervously.

"That wasn't a dream."

"Felt like one. This does too." said Wilson, and he leaned back into House, stretched out luxuriously, feeling comfortable and safe in their closeness. House opened his legs, rested one hand lightly on Wilson's hip. His lips were actually brushing against the sensitive skin of Wilson neck, making him shiver. Wilson put his own hand over House's where it rested on his hips. Wilson turned his head; his lips were half-parted, inviting House with his very gaze to go a little further. And House was finally kissing his lips, such a soft kiss, he had expected House to be rough, abrasive, but he was sweetly kissing him with tenderness, gently slipping his tongue between Wilson's parted lips, and Wilson opened his mouth and groaned invitingly as House began to kiss him with slow-burning passion, letting his tongue wander suggestively, hand tightening around his waist.

"Feels so good to kiss you, Wilson," sighed House, and his sigh ended with a little soft whimper. His fingers were slipping below Wilson's belt, pulling at his oxford shirt until it was completely untucked, and then one hand was sliding up his ribcage, rubbing his chest in wide circles, while the other was resting still on the crease of his thigh. He was teasing Wilson's nipples, rubbing and pinching them, enjoying Wilson's soft sighs, the way he strained in his arms. He nipped lightly at the back of Wilson's neck, making him jerk back a little, so that Wilson could feel that House was already half-erect.

"That for me?" asked Wilson breathlessly. His head was thrown back, his lips half-parted, he wanted more, and House did not hesitate to turn his head, to kiss him with open mouth and hastening urgency. House had meant to approach Wilson softly, with a gentle kiss just to put them on the other side of the fence, from friends to more-than-friends. But he hadn't expected Wilson to be asking for it, to be twining himself in his arms, sliding his ass intentionally over his growing erection until House was panting.

"For you, Jimmy," said House in a low voice, and his hand slid up to the crease in Wilson's thigh, he tightened it, kissing and biting gently at the back of Wilson's neck, enjoying how Wilson was so hot and restless in his arms. He turned his chin to kiss again, letting himself moan with how good it was, kissing Wilson's beautiful rosy lips, caressing his thigh through his trousers, knowing by Wilson's soft little cries, the way his hips were starting to buck forward, that he was feeling all that lovely heat in his groin, as he tried to maneuver House's hand over his stiffening cock.

"Want this?" asked House, suddenly sliding his palm over Wilson's cock straining through his trousers. He rubbed it in slow, tantalizing circles, noting how Wilson gasped, pushed his hips forward, threw his head back in utter abandon.

"God, yes, you know I do," groaned Wilson, sliding his ass back, feeling House's prick rubbing against him, and then thrusting his hips forward to meet House's hand caressing his cock, but House was teasing him a little, making him wait for it.

"Just making sure," said House, unbuckling Wilson's belt, sliding his trousers and boxers down just enough to give him access, then that first delicious squeeze of his cock that made Wilson jump in his arms, and then he was thumbing and squeezing the head of his cock, so that Wilson thrust himself into House's tightened hand, sighing with pleasure as his prick stiffened under House's steady strokes. He began to jerk him long and slow, kissing his neck, blowing in his ear, while his other hand trailed over his ribcage, up to his nipples, first brushing them with a feather light touch, then teasing, then pinching, and all the while rubbing his hard cock over the curve of Wilson's ass, moaning sweet blandishments into his ear.

Wilson felt overheated with pleasure. He threw off the scratchy wool car blanket, leaned backwards into House. Pushing his hips forward forced his slick cock into House's tight hand; withdrawing to thrust again, his ass met House's stiffening prick, causing House to gasp softly. He turned his head as much as he could, mouth open, clumsily meeting House's lips for a deep and sensual kiss. House, distracted by kissing, momentarily let his hand go slack, but Wilson rocked his hips impatiently.

"Do it to me," he groaned helplessly, and House whispered _oh, yes_. He threw one leg over him, heart pounding with lust and anticipation as he slid around to face Wilson, settling down on top of him. For the first time, Wilson felt the full length of House's body as it pressed against him, how hot he was, and a little shaky, but his mouth was sure as he bent down for a wet, open-mouthed kiss, slicking his tongue around Wilson's, moaning as his excitement mounted. Wilson was half-naked, shirt hiked up, trousers pulled down, flushed and lovely in his pleasure. The feel of House's cock through his jeans was maddening. He grabbed House by his waist, pulled him close, slipped his hands underneath his tee-shirt, reached for the buckle of his jeans.

"God, you're eager for it," said House, breathing hard, suppressing his urge to utter all kinds of crude words, to say _suck me, Jimmy, you little tart, hot piece of ass, I want you on your knees_. He didn't want to alarm Wilson unduly with his dirty mind. Wilson was unbuckling him, unzipping his fly. House wasn't wearing any underwear and his cock sprang out stiff as a truncheon. Then Wilson slipped his hands down his jeans to cup his ass and bring him closer, feeling sweet sparks of pleasure down his spine as their bare cocks met, and when House began to rock his hips, Wilson squeezed their cocks together with his hand, so that every thrust brought the most luscious friction to his overheated groin.

Wilson was hot and ready for it, bucking his hips impatiently, but House thrust into him at a leisurely pace, and finally bent down to kiss him lasciviously, aggressively twining his tongue around Wilson's. His cock was stiff and slick with excitement, and he rubbed it against House with increasing urgency. He reached down to squeeze their cocks together, moaning in delight. It felt so good to rub against House, to let him kiss and bite and whisper filthy loving words, out-of-breath and panting, directly into his ear, for him and him alone. House was grinding him into the bed, rocking the framework a little. Wilson wanted it to go on forever, the sweet ache in his cock and balls, the heavy weight of House panting over him, the hot kisses that left him gasping. He wanted to slow down, draw it out, make it last, but House reached down to grasp his cock, stroking tightly, and Wilson was crying out, close to going over the edge.

"I'll come," he gasped.

"I'll make you," said House lewdly, jerking him faster, harder, watching Wilson start to come undone, his face flushed scarlet, hips thrusting like pistons. He was coming, pushing his throbbing, leaking prick into House's tight fist, groaning wantonly, _yes, oh yes_ as the first few drops jetted from his cock, splashing all over House's hand, Wilson's belly. House was gripping him tightly, jerking him slow and steady, and Wilson was trembling and spurting his come at each firm stroke. One of House's hands was cupping his ass, the other squeezing every last drop out of his cock, until Wilson was gasping at the intense pleasure of his release, his cock finally softening, breathing slowly returning to normal.

He could tell House was on the edge, his stiff prick was rubbing wetly on Wilson's come-drenched stomach, panting in an effort to control himself, and he gazed deeply at Wilson, eyes blazing with lust, but a sudden shyness was holding him back.

"Go on, let's see it, then," said Wilson teasingly. He reached up to grasp House's hard cock, stroking it quickly, causing House inhale sharply, arching forward to push his hips in and out of Wilson's tightened fist.

"Come on," said Wilson encouragingly, and House's cock throbbed in his hand. It was nice to watch his friend's sensual response to his erotic stimulation. House was bucking his hips, and Wilson was afraid his voluptuous groans would carry through the deserted hallways and all the way to Cuddy's office. He leaned down to kiss Wilson aggressively, one hand tangling in his hair, the other rubbing all over his damp belly, thrusting his aching cock into Wilson's tight grasp.

"Ah, you're sweet," he gasped out, pausing between kisses, and surprising Wilson with his unexpected sentiment. He thrust his tongue into Wilson's mouth, bit his lips, losing control under the steady stroking. "Kiss me, Jimmy, oh...._oh_..." and suddenly he was shooting, his ass clenching, come jetting all the way up to Wilson's chest as he cried out, "ah, _fuck_, yes, do it to me," and other profanities, making Wilson laugh softly at the loving, filthy words as he stroked him slowly until House groaned hard, collapsed on top of him, so that Wilson could feel his chest heaving. His cock was softening, and Wilson let it slip from his hand. He stroked House's ass, his lower back, he pressed light kisses to his tired lips. "That was so sexy," he whispered, wondering if his sweet words would be going too far with his abrasive friend. "Watching you come, God, I could do it all over again."

"Like a sex machine, hm, Wilson?" said House softly. His eyes were closed, and he slid off Wilson until they were laying side-by-side, and Wilson rested his head against his friend's shoulder. "I'm going to miss this place, nice big bed, empty halls, lunchtime dalliance with a hot young doctor..." and he squeezed Wilson's thigh meaningfully.

"Yeah, well, I was thinking of getting a couch in my office," said Wilson. "That armchair isn't doing me much good."

"Just make sure it folds out," said House, and he slipped one arm around Wilson's shoulders and pulled him close, and Wilson, for the first time, was glad of his friend's boundary issues.


End file.
